


Contest

by Nyssa



Category: Starsky & Hutch - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyssa/pseuds/Nyssa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys engage in manly competition.  Takes place immediately following the tag for "Death in a Different Place."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contest

Starsky settled back on the LTD's rear seat. It was a mess, but he'd given up on getting Hutch to clean it. Now he was happy if the pile of junk back there was minimal enough to leave room for him to stretch out.

"I thought so," he said, flipping the pages of his magazine. "You haven't got an answer, have ya?"

"Starsky, I know you." Hutch gave him a little smirk in the rear-view mirror. "You're just not the romantic type. And to be a great kisser, you have to be the romantic type. Simple."

"It ain't simple. And what's the romantic type? You gotta look like Cary Grant or something? I know plenty of chicks that would disagree with you, buddy boy."

"Well, Starsk, you've gotta admit a lot of the chicks you're talking about aren't carrying too much in the brains department."

Now he was getting insulting. "Hey, bright boy, I kiss just fine. I'm a _hell_ of a kisser. I kiss better than you'll ever know."

"Yeah, yeah. That's not what Marilyn said."

"Who the hell's Marilyn?"

Hutch snorted. "You don't even remember. Yeah, you're dripping with romance, partner."

"Come on, who is she and what'd she say?"

"Last month? At the disco? Brunette with skinny legs?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Starsky smiled reminiscently. "She had a hell of a grip with 'em, though."

"Well, I took her out the next night, and she said -- "

"You took her out?"

"Yeah. And she said -- "

"Why'd you take her out?"

"Why not? I liked her. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Skinny legs," Starsky muttered. "You can do better than that, Hutch."

"She said you kissed like a vacuum cleaner, dry and sucky."

"What?" Starsky dropped the magazine. "What the hell did she mean by that?"

Hutch cackled. "I thought it was pretty funny, actually."

Starsky sat up straight and grabbed the back of the front seat, bringing his face next to Hutch's. "Listen, she was just mad because -- well, she wanted to go twice, y'know? And I didn't."

"Poor Starsk." Hutch shook his head. "She's slandering you just because you couldn't -- "

"Wouldn't!"

" -- go twice..." Hutch tsked. "I feel for you, buddy, I really do." He paused. "But you're still a lousy kisser."

"Hey, if you're gonna take the word of some pissed-off chick with skinny legs over your own partner, your best friend, who'd lay down his life for you -- "

"It's not just her. I told you, Starsky, I know you. I've seen you kiss, and it's bad. It's pitiful."

"I don't hand out the good ones in front of just anybody," Starsky said, with dignity. "I save 'em for private, one-on-one situations, y'know?"

"Sure you do. Get me a shovel, will ya?"

"Aw, you wouldn't know a good kiss if it burned your lips off. You've got no experience."

"What's that supposed to mean? I've done a lot of kissing in my time, buddy."

"Yeah, but I bet you've never been kissed by a -- " Starsky cut himself off abruptly. _Now_, he thought, _now we come to the point of the matter_.

Hutch made a careful left turn and then glanced curiously at him. "What? Kissed by a what?"

Starsky let his voice drop to a slightly husky tone. "By a real man."

Hutch's foot slipped off the accelerator. The old car lurched, and he hastily tapped the pedal. "Starsk, I've never even been kissed by an unreal man."

Starsky smiled. "Bullshit."

"What do you mean, bullshit?"

"You've been wasting it, buddy. Spendin' it on girls and boys. Giggly little stewardesses and high school crushes like that Jack What's-His-Face."

Hutch came to a screeching halt at a light. "Mitchell. And I don't know where the hell you got the idea he was some -- some kind of _crush_. We were friends -- "

"You were makin' it with him."

Hutch stared straight ahead. Starsky watched, bemused, as he chewed his lower lip.

"Hey." He touched Hutch's shoulder. "Hey, partner. You've never had a reason to lie to me. You ain't got one now."

Hutch turned his head slowly. His eyes were wide with a consternation that gradually faded as they looked into Starsky's.

The light changed and a horn blew from behind. Hutch jerked in surprise, and quickly moved the car forward. Starsky smiled and rested his arms on the back of the seat.

"Anyway, like I was sayin', that's kid's stuff. That's for amateurs. You're supposed to grow out of that, Hutch."

Hutch cleared his throat. "Starsky, if you don't mind my saying so, this conversation is getting a little strange."

Starsky blinked. "Hey, that's from _The Graduate_."

"Yeah, well I'm sorry I wasn't more original."

"S'okay. I was going to say, you need kissing badly. You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how."

Hutch looked away as he changed lanes. "That's from _Gone With the Wind_."

"I got a million of 'em, partner."

"Starsky, you're no Clark Gable."

"But I can kiss. I can kiss you right under the table, hotshot. It wouldn't be like kissing that boy in high school." He brought his lips within touching distance of Hutch's ear and whispered, "I'm a _man_."

Hutch twitched violently. The car swerved into the next lane, and a horn blared frantically. Starsky grabbed the headrest on the passenger side to keep from tumbling off the seat.

"Goddammit, Starsky!" Hutch maneuvered the car back onto the straight and narrow with shaky hands. "What are you trying to do, get us killed?"

"Pull over," Starsky said. His heart was racing from the sudden jolt of fear. Adrenaline streaked along his nerve endings, and he felt his balls tighten pleasantly. He closed his eyes for a second. _Jesus, yeah. Pull over_.

"Starsk, if you're gonna be sick -- "

"Just do it, okay? Over there." He pointed.

Hutch slowed down, signaled, and rolled into an empty parking lot. A faded sign read _Stowaway Storage. We stow your stuff!_ Behind it stood a building with boarded-up windows, and behind that several rows of apparently deserted storage garages.

"Back there," Starsky said.

Hutch threw him a look, but cruised slowly around the side of the building and between two rows of garages. There, cut off from view in the shade of the buildings, he stopped and killed the engine.

Starsky hauled himself up and scrambled headfirst into the front seat, narrowly avoiding planting the toe of his left sneaker in Hutch's right ear. He righted himself, brushed his hands together -- you never knew what was growing in that back seat -- and said, "Okay, c'mere."

Hutch just looked at him. "If you think we're about to do what I think you think we're about to do, I'm not doing it."

Starsky grinned. "Scared, huh?"

"I'm not scared," Hutch replied. "It's just -- it's ridiculous, that's all. A kissing contest? Come on, Starsk." He gave a scornful little laugh and looked pointedly out the driver's side window.

"You're scared, all right." _You're hot, too_. He watched a drop of sweat roll down Hutch's neck, and restrained himself from leaning forward to catch it with his tongue. _C'mere and get hotter, babe_.

Hutch turned back to him. "You're really nuts, aren't you? You actually think you can out kiss me?"

"Loser has to buy the winner lunch for a month," Starsky said. He thrust his chin forward and arranged his lips into an exaggerated pucker.

Hutch grimaced. "You look like a sick fish. What happened to all your reservations about a man preferring another man?"

"Who said I preferred another man? I just wanna show you I'm a good kisser."

Hutch raised his hands in exasperation. "Okay, okay, I believe you."

"No, you don't. You want proof, and I got it, right here." Starsky tapped his lips with his index finger. "Lay it on me, pal."

"All right!" Hutch leaned in, muttering, "Dumbest thing I ever heard of," and lightly brushed his mouth across Starsky's.

Starsky, who had let his eyes drift shut in joyful anticipation, opened them and fixed his partner with a cold stare. "If that's the best you got, you better forfeit this game right now."

Hutch looked offended. "What are you talking about? That was a very nice kiss! Subtle, delicate -- "

"Felt like a moth lit on my lips and flapped its wings."

"Oh, for -- "

"I don't like insects, Hutch."

"Starsky, not every kiss has to be a tonsil-bruiser, you know? There's room for sweetness and -- and finesse."

"That wasn't finesse, that was just lame. Barely there at all." Starsky gave Hutch an appraising look. "You really _are_ scared."

"I told you, I'm not -- "

"What are you scared of, Hutch?"

"Okay, that's it," Hutch snapped. "You want more, you got it, buddy." He grabbed Starsky's head and brought their lips together savagely.

Starsky gave a strangled "Mmph." Despite his bravado, he'd never kissed a man before; he'd only wanted to. Hutch's kiss was _hard_. The soft, full lips he'd dreamed about were crushing his, pressing against his teeth, forcing his mouth open, grinding against him. His mind spun; his cock jerked. Waves of heat assaulted him. _Yeah_, he thought. _More_. But just as he reached to pull Hutch closer, he was released.

"There." Hutch sat back and smiled. "How'd you like that?"

Starsky took a deep, much-needed breath. "Well," he said, running his tongue gingerly around the inside of his lower lip, "not bad. A little, uh, forceful, y'know? You're going from one extreme to the other on this."

Hutch smiled again, smugly. "Still think I don't know how to kiss a man?"

"Hey, I never said you didn't know how to kiss a man. I said you'd never _been kissed_ by a man. And you still haven't."

"But you have, now," Hutch said. "And you liked it."

Starsky blinked at the sudden soft, caressing quality in Hutch's voice. Unconsciously he licked his lips, on the outside this time. "Yeah, I liked it," he said, and his own voice was husky. "But I can beat it."

They held each other's gaze for a long, charged moment. Then Hutch reached up and trailed a finger slowly, gently, over Starsky's lips. "Come here and do it, then."

Starsky felt himself shudder at the teasing touch, at the inviting whisper. He parted his lips slightly and met Hutch's fingertip with his tongue, noting with satisfaction Hutch's indrawn breath. "My, my," he murmured. "How things change. All of a sudden you're beggin' for it."

"Ah, ah," Hutch said, raising a reproving finger. "Demanding. There's a big difference."

Starsky gave him a slow smile. "You're getting awful pushy, you know that?"

Hutch smiled back. "I can't judge your technique if you don't show it to me."

"Oh, I'll show it to ya. I'll show you anything you wanna see, baby." He took Hutch's face between his palms. "Now, just relax. This won't hurt a bit."

He didn't have to pull Hutch to him; Hutch met him halfway, and for a moment Starsky froze, his lips almost touching his partner's. Where to start, with all that beauty only a tongue-tip away?

"What's the matter?" Hutch whispered. His breath tickled Starsky's mouth. "Scared?"

That snapped him out of it. "Fuck you," he whispered back, and closed his mouth over Hutch's lower lip, pulling it in, worrying it very gently with his teeth, and then soothing it with long, lapping strokes of his tongue. He delved deeper, touched the roof of Hutch's mouth -- Hutch made a tiny, surprised sound in his throat -- and drew Hutch's tongue in to meet his. It was soft, quiescent; Hutch was letting Starsky do all the work. His passivity was a provocation. _Impress me_, it said.

_Okay_, Starsky thought, _don't help. I'll handle this all by myself_. A picture leapt suddenly into his mind -- Hutch naked, prone on Starsky's bed, looking over his shoulder with an enticing smile and a slow, rhythmic wiggle of his hips...

He groaned at the thought, sucking harder at Hutch's tongue, letting his fingers dig into the hair at Hutch's temples, losing himself in that soft, wet mouth until Hutch made a choked noise and pushed against his chest. The realization that his partner wanted him to stop took a moment to penetrate Starsky's hazy consciousness, but then he slowly, reluctantly drew back far enough to speak.

"What?" he breathed. "Whassamatter?"

"Hot," Hutch whispered.

Starsky groaned again. "Me too, babe." He leaned back in eagerly, but Hutch fended him off.

"Gotta take my jacket off." Hutch fumbled awkwardly with the jacket, shrugging it off his shoulders, sliding it down his arms. Starsky watched, licking his lips.

Hutch tossed the garment into the back seat and turned back to Starsky. His face was flushed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened his hair where it met the skin. His eyes glowed with heat.

"I'll bet it's in the 90's already," he said. "Why don't you take yours off?"

Starsky slowly removed his own jacket, watching Hutch's eyes follow his movements and linger on the exposed skin just beneath his throat where his shirt hung open. He freed two more buttons, just for good measure, and Hutch watched that, too.

"Well?" Starsky asked.

Hutch dragged his eyes back to Starsky's. "Well, what?"

Starsky drew a finger across the hollow of Hutch's throat. "Well, what'd you think of the kiss? I thought we were havin' a contest."

Hutch's eyes closed briefly at the touch, and then widened in mock surprise. "Was that what we were having?"

"Come on, I told you what I thought of yours."

Hutch cleared his throat. "It was all right." He paused. "Acceptable."

"Acceptable, huh?"

"Well -- decent."

"Decent, huh?"

"Not bad."

"Not bad?"

"Okay."

"Quit gushing, buddy, you'll turn me into an egomaniac."

"Starsky, you know this doesn't prove anything. Kissing doesn't mean a damn thing if it's one-sided. Both parties have to be equally involved. Otherwise it's just an academic exercise."

"Oh," Starsky said, and they were silent for a moment, enjoying a sudden light breeze that floated through the windows. Hutch held his shirt front away from his chest and fanned himself.

"So," Starsky said slowly, "you wanna get equally involved?"

Hutch lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug.

There was an infinitesimal pause before they lunged for each other.

Starsky had time to say "_God_," and then Hutch's mouth was on his and he was tearing Hutch's shirttail out of his pants, and Hutch was moaning wildly and Starsky was arching up off the seat so Hutch could slide his hands down to cradle his ass, and the hell with the kiss because he was wrenching his lips away from Hutch's so he could bite Hutch's neck, and Hutch was gasping, "God, Starsk, yeah, like that," and life was about as fucking beautiful as it could be, at least in a dirty, cramped, cluttered old tub in the middle of a killer heat wave with the radio crackling, "Zebra Three, Zebra Three, come in please."

Shit. _Shit_.

Hutch whispered, "Starsk, we gotta -- "

"No," Starsky said. He heard the embarrassing whimper in his voice, but it didn't bother him. He repeated it, banging his head slowly against the back of the seat as Hutch pulled gently away from him. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Zebra Three," Hutch said, sighing into the receiver.

"Zebra Three, see the man at the corner of 5th and Pine. He has information for you."

"On our way," Hutch said, and cut the connection. There was a moment's heavy silence.

Starsky said softly, "Hutch, I don't wanna see the man at the corner of 5th and Pine. The only man I wanna see, I'm seeing now."

"That's the Californian Hotel," Hutch said. His voice was dull, flat. "Probably Ernie Silvers. Maybe he wants fifty bucks to rat out a jaywalker."

Starsky ground his teeth. "I especially don't wanna see Ernie-fucking-Silvers."

"I know exactly how you feel," Hutch said, and turned the key in the ignition. The engine coughed, sputtered, and died. Hutch slammed both hands against the steering wheel and bellowed "Fuck!" with such violence that Starsky recoiled in shock.

"Uh, okay, buddy, okay. Calm down." Starsky put a hand on Hutch's shoulder. "Try her again."

Clench-jawed, Hutch did. This time the engine rattled to life and settled into a steady rumble. Starsky sighed and let his head fall back against the headrest as they pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road. The faintly sick sensation of thwarted lust settled like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He let his hand fall to his crotch and gave his yearning genitals an apologetic squeeze.

"I'm gonna die," he said darkly. "I'm gonna bust wide open and die and you'll have to clean up the mess."

Hutch gave him a wan smile. "I wish you wouldn't. It's so hard to get blood and brains and stomach contents off these seats."

Starsky looked out the side window. "Don't say hard."

After a minute's silent driving, Hutch said, "Starsk, you've never been with a guy before, have you?"

Starsky blinked at him. "No," he said, and shifted on the seat. "Just, y'know, thought about it. I mean," he added hastily, "not a _lot_, but.... "

Hutch smiled. "How'd you know about Jack and me?"

Starsky shrugged. "I dunno. The way you looked at him, or something, or the way he looked at you. I dunno, I could just feel it. I hated it."

Hutch's eyes widened. "You hated him?"

"No, not him, not really. Just, y'know, that he knew something about you that I didn't. That he'd -- been something to you that I hadn't. I guess I kinda thought you were mine, or something, until then." He felt his face growing hot. "Sounds stupid, I know. That was the first time I really thought about it."

"You knew about me, but you didn't know about John."

"Yeah," Starsky said slowly. "Funny."

"Maybe you didn't want to know about him. Maybe you couldn't let yourself see it." Hutch laid his right hand over Starsky's left on the seat between them and squeezed gently.

Starsky didn't reply. He squeezed back, and then laced his fingers with Hutch's.

A few minutes later they turned onto Pine. Hutch maneuvered the car carefully into a parallel parking spot across the street from the Californian. When he moved to open the door, Starsky caught his arm. Hutch turned to him, eyes questioning.

"I forgot to tell you," Starsky said. "Remember how my a/c was on the blink? My landlady got it fixed yesterday."

Hutch gave him an _Is this relevant?_ look. "Great."

"So, y'know, if you want to come over after we get off, it'll be nice and cool and comfortable."

He saw understanding dawn in Hutch's eyes. "Oh. Okay. We could play chess."

"Yeah, or checkers."

"Or Monopoly."

"Or we could have another contest."

Hutch sighed. "I don't know, Starsk. People who feel they have to compete with each other all the time -- frankly, I think it's a sign of immaturity. It's childish."

Starsky shrugged casually. "Okay. If you're scared to find out which of us fucks the best, I can understand that."

There was a long pause before Hutch said, "Loser has to clean out my back seat, okay?"


End file.
